Best Soir Poems
Starbright
As I gaze into indigo skies,
Stars are brighter tonight,
Twinkling in the darkness
Of a new moon.
Orion's belt enchants
My impassioned heart
As my thoughts of you soar
In a dimension devoid
Of Time's constraints.
Let me feel the warmth of your
Strong arms wrapped 'round me
As we breathe in the scent
Of night blooming jasmine.
You are my summer nights—
In my dreams of us
On cool cotton sheets
While Bach serenades us in
Rainbows of ribbons~
In a symphony of sounds~
Your skin glistens,
And I am lost in love.
8-21-22
(French translation)
Starbright
Comme j'ai regarder dans le ciel indigo,
Les étoiles sont plus lumineux, ce soir,
Scintillant dans l'obscurité
D'une nouvelle lune.
Ceinture d'Orion enchante
Mon coeur passionné
Comme mes pensées de vous atteindre
Dans une dimension dépourvue
Des contraintes de temps.
Je voudrais sentir la chaleur de votre
Bras forts enveloppés "autour de moi
Que nous respirons le parfum
Fleur Jasmin de nuit.
Vous êtes mes nuits d'été--
Dans mes rêves de nous
Sur des draps en coton cool
Bien que Bach sérénades nous dans un
Arc en ciel de rubans ~
Dans une symphonie de sons ~
Votre peau scintille,
Et je suis perdu dans l'amour.
8-21-22
~Second Place~
The Meaning of Love Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
____________________________________________
7-22-2016
~First Place~
Best Love Poem EVER
Contest Judged: 8/27/2016
Sponsored by: Lu Loo
Categories:
soir, french, happiness, love, romance,
Form:
Free verse
I awaken; the darkened skies my alarm clock
I reek of whiskey, scotch and pastis
Tumbling out of bed, I reach for a cigarette
The dusk harkens as I rise to ply my trade
I am embodied inside a one room flat
The nightlife and the ladies both coming to life
Out the window I see the windmill so famous in red
Ladies with offers, men with drinks, the recipe for lust
I am the mime of the Moulin Rouge
I ready myself with my white painted face
Tonight another performance or so it seems
I shall juggle my knifes, with my many sad faces
Up up up in the air, one, two, three
Knifes in a whirlwind of iconic display
Around and around like the Moulin Rouge
I perform, toss and catch to applause
My sad face bows in graceful acknowledgement
As they toss their lose coins my way
If they see fit to fill my container of misery
I make for them my spectacular encore
I take a knife, a long black sharp blade
Tossed 12 feet in the air, dancing its way back down
As it slices the stem of a red rose in my hand
I now hand a pretty girl a cut rose
The ladies of the evening smile
They see I too traded romance for coin
How sad it is, this Moulin Rouge of dreams
Eleven more roses, and I shall earn my keep
Or so the ladies in red believe
I, on the other hand, will be changing the last act
I am tired of rent and being rented and rented cloth
I shall perform the ultimate act finale ce soir
Selecting the sharpest set of long fine knifes
Lighting them with orange flame, the juggling act begins
My audience enthralled, once again
Wondering maybe does he ever miss?
I never miss, I never shall, this is a certainty
The knifes a glow in fire, lighting the nighttime sky,
Tossed high, I lie down fast, tossed a rose in the air
A Knife as usual cut the rose stem
One, two, three, the knifes enter my heart
The blood will warm the falling rose
As it gently falls upon my silent chest
I die with a smile, yes my final act a success
The rose so tender upon my breast
Breathless all, Gay Paris has died once more
I never miss
Yet, I miss you
Categories:
soir, rose,
Form:
Light Verse
The sun plunged
In the space of silence,
The summer has been extended
In a slow wandering ...
The orb has been drunk,
Gradually, by fringes.
> We did not hear anything,
From the fall of the angel ...
The horizon has folded its wings around
Confusing the distants ...
Evening invades what remains of the day
In a jiffy.
Water reflections exchanges
The colors overrated,
With the sky full of oranges,
The trees are just silhouettes ...
The night the already marks yesterday
This is a timely opportunity,
Where piercing welcoming clouds
unfolds, shamelessly ,the moon ...
It will take an earth tour,
And plenty of patience,
For the solar triumph reappears
In its rebirth ,
As clarity rises
And progresses slowly
Until the most intense moment, at its solstice,
To the top of the firmament.
And the celestial body draws, now
All things , in gold drops ,
..... - And this is another day.
It drinks in his turn and evaporates it....
-
Le soleil a plongé
Dans l'espace du silence,
L'été s'est prolongé
Dans une lente errance...
L'astre a été bu,
Petit à petit, par franges.
> Nous n'avons rien entendu,
De la chute de l'ange...
L'horizon a replié ses ailes, autour
Confondant les lointains...
Le soir envahit ce qu'il reste de jour,
En un tournemain.
Les reflets des eaux échangent
Des couleurs surfaites ,
Avec le ciel tout en oranges,
Les arbres ne sont que silhouettes...
La nuit, marque déjà l'hier,
C'est l'occasion opportune,
Où, perçant des nuées hospitalières,
se dévoile, sans pudeur, la lune...
Il faudra un tour de terre,
Et beaucoup de patience,
Pour que réapparaisse le triomphe solaire,
Dans sa renaissance ,
Que la clarté se hisse
Et progresse lentement,
Jusqu'au plus intense, à son solstice,
Au sommet du firmament.
Et l'astre dessine maintenant ,
Toutes choses en gouttes d'or,
..... - Et c'est un autre jour.
Il le boit à son tour, puis l' évapore....
-
RC
Categories:
soir, angel, beauty, color, day,
Form:
Quatrain
Vous êtes le parfum de mon âme . . .
A vintage red flowing slowly past my moist lips
sipped in anticipation
a flower beaming her brilliant white resting
across my chest
a painted moon lain over your bare shoulder
cascading a heavenly hue
a twinkle speaking to a soul
in words never told
and this night you're existence
I'll forever hold
inside my craving heart
Aime-moi ce soir et toujours
Categories:
soir, love,
Form:
Romanticism
Yellow flower, grieving flower, pale flower,
You were burnt by the sun and the hot rain.
Ripe flower, matured flower, immaculate flower,
You've nevertheless kept your phenomenal beauty sane.
The half-yellow and the half-green leaves
Are trying to mimic your beautiful color.
Mother Nature and Fauna are profusely in tears,
And Squirrel and Nightingale in a state of horror.
Flower of one of the most somber and romantic seasons,
Your exceptional beauty merits great admirations
And your sweet and delicious sap is beyond words.
Flower, I'm coming tonight to rest on your turfs,
To contemplate the stars and the sparks,
The abandoned branches and the rods floating in the parks.
Copyright 1997 Hebert Logerie
Author of Sparkles of Love recently published by Xlibris.com.
Copyright © October 1997, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
French version
Fleur d'Automne
Fleur jaune, fleur triste, fleur pâle;
Le soleil t'a brûlée et la pluie t'a échaudée;
Fleur mûre, fleur maturée, fleur immaculée;
Malgré tout, tu as gardé ta beauté phénoménale.
Les feuilles à moitié jaunes et à moitié vertes
Essaient de porter tes belles couleurs.
La nature et la faune sont inconsolables et en pleurs,
Les écureuils et les rossignols sont en état d'alerte.
Fleur d'une de la plus sombre et romantique saison,
Laisse-moi admirer ta beauté exceptionnelle
Et savourer encore ta douce et délicieuse salive.
Fleur, je viendrai, ce soir, m'étendre sur ton gazon.
Viens admirer les étoiles, les étincelles,
Les branches et les tiges abandonnées dans la rive.
Copyright © March 2008, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
Categories:
soir, autumn, bridal shower, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
The farmer said to the cow
Be quiet you old sow
To which she replied
I am not a pig, I am a mooing cow!
He looked at her mockingly
Saying "That is yet to be determined"
She huffed and puffed as he called the butcher.
Whether she was a cow, or a pig or even a one legged chicken
She is now the silent one.
For on the table she sits
A rightful dish along with the haggis
The Fox shall enjoy his menu de la soir
Roasted and basted
Merry Christmas to one and all!
Categories:
soir, animal, england, hilarious, horror,
Form:
Light Verse
Wish I was a poet, and got well paid
for poems writ whilst wearing suede
and drinking lots ‘n' lots of claret,
in a well-appointed Paris garret
My publisher would love me true,
and pay my rent, when overdue,
so I wouldn't sleep on Montmartre streets
and get under decent people's feets
I'd get well drunk and laid a lot,
(I heard poets do, more oft than not)
and choose, with numbers from a jar,
mam'selles to coucher with each soir.
Les dames Francaises would think me clever
‘cause root and boot are words I'd never
correlate. But sometimes Paris Bourse,
I'd rhyme with sexual intercourse.
And what if, for every verse I penned,
I got a hot brand-new best friend?
I wonder how long could I last,
in a life I led that blazing fast?
My real life's, in truth, synonymous
with being next best to anonymous,
but I suppose that it might be much worse,
had I to catch an early hearse.
Categories:
soir, humorous, paris,
Form:
Couplet
One light, I was out panting the clown red when I met a Sadie from Francis who I found to be quiet subtractive. It was apparel she thought I was distracted two because she ted, “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?” To witch I supplied "You can let your coucher I due.”
Sew, we dove to a rotel and wented a womb and that’s where it all rent wong. I dimply could NOT maintain my direction! I even deported to taking two extra-length Niagras butt no lice! My ergo was scattered to say the piece, although she was quiet patent with me at second, basking, “Comment allez-vous, mon ami?” I dancered, "Not very bien, mon cherry, déjà vu?"
Swell cokes, let me sell ya, she was so beset and vivid it took a few momentums for her to apply. FINALITY she basked (In broken England) “Deja who? Who is Déjà and what the PLUCK has Vu got to do with the price of a flea on a panda in Angina?”
To take a short story long, she got it up, put her clothes back off and resorted, “Au revoir, tu salopard!”
"Salopardon madamit? Did you dust ball me a dastard?" She had the VERVE to say: ”If the necker shrinks, then bare it, and your pepper sure did slink and you better relieve THAT, you old pool!”
Whelp, I won’t go into any moor of the sorted retails here. Needles to hay, I will sever foreskin that incidental and will always dismember that humilitating tight
I depose one gives and sperms…
Translations:
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir? – Do you want to sleep with me tonight?
Comment allez-vous, mon ami? – How are you doing my friend?
Tres bein, et vous? - Very good, and you?
Mon cher - My dear
Au revior, tu salopard – Goodbye, you bastard
Categories:
soir, funny,
Form:
Prose
Tali Karng : le Serpent du Crépuscule – Translation of W. Les Russell’s « Tali Karng : Twilight Snake » by T. Wignesan
(W.Les Russell, b. 1949 in Melbourne, joined the Royal Australian Navy – where he received training in photography – in 1965. He soon found himself at odds with the hierarchy, and so he requested and obtained an honorable discharge in 1970. He worked for the Education Department in Victoria for ten years as a photographer, and thereafter served on many levels on various aboriginal uplift bodies in Victoria and Queensland ; in the latter state, he helped to make the Aboriginal Mining Information Centre, according to Kevin Gilbert in Inside Black Australia, 1988: « …one of the largest indigenous research bodies in the world… », and says of this poem in English that it « shows a control and imagery far beyond the parameters of the majority of Australian poets to that greater universal level beyond country, beyond life. ») T. Wignesan, Paris, December 14, 2016.
Tali Karng : the serpent du crépuscule :
Dans le cratère se trouve le lac.
L’eau brun roux : peu claire profonde ;
Le lac froid : un lit des feuilles et des écorces
Déchiqueté raide le mur du cratère
Tous couverts gris vert imposants
Plantes alpines et Cendres de Montagne
Où des oiseaux délicats de plumage éclatant cabriolent
D’une branche à l’autre en chantant d’une voix douce
Jusqu’à l’arrivée subite du soir doré
Et :
Tali Karng : le serpent du crépuscule :
Est en train de chasser près des eaux du lac.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Categories:
soir, allegory, fear, metaphor,
Form:
Rhyme
Les Souvenirs de Noël – Translation of Joy Williams’s « Memories of Christmas » by T. Wignesan
(Joy Williams, b. 1942 in Sydney. Since she was born « fair » of skin, the authorities forcibly removed her as a baby to be placed in a children’s home, and at the age of 6 to be assimilated in a « white » institution. She later studied for a B.A. at Wollongong University in New Soth Wales.
Joy’s first born, Julie-Anne Joy, was taken from her at 10 months by the Aboriginal Protection Board. She worked for an organization called : « Link-Up » in Canberra with tentacles all over the continent whose prescribed aim was to bring together parents and children thus forcibly separated by the authorities. Joy, finally, « linked-up » with her family 42 years after enforced separation. – Info culled from K. Gilbert’s Inside Black Australia,
Penguin, 1988.) T. Wignesan, Paris, December 16, 2016.
Les Souvenirs de Noël – Translation of Joy Williams’s « Memories of Christmas » by T. Wignesan
C’est 16 heures la veille de Noël et je pense de toi.
Je m’amuse en rappelant de ce que tu as dit : Noël est pour les
enfants –
Je pleurais car je ne jamais étais un enfant.
Je vois un arbre, tout allumé des guirlandes de Noël,
J’aperçois la réflexion des lumières dans les yeux de mes enfants tandis qu’ils dansaient autour de l’arbre avec une anticipation joyeuse.
Je me demande ce qu’elle aurait pu être la vie d’un enfant.
Est-ce que mes souvenirs auraient pu être heureux au lieu de rien ?
Est-ce que mes enfants se souviendront de leur enfance ?
C’est le matin de Noël,
J’entends des cries de joie,
On m’a réveillé d’un sommeil agité et j’ai senti deux pairs de bras autour de moi,
J’éprouve le sentiment qu’on a besoin de moi.
Dieu, comme j’aime mes enfants !
J’essaye d’apprécier le Noël à travers d’eux, mais, à l’intérieur, je pleure,
Une nonne arrive avec une boîte de vivres et je me sens maladive et vidée,
Elle comprend ce que je ressens. (Mettez la boîte là, je dis.)
C’est le soir de Noël,
Je suis fatiguée.
On m’aime.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Categories:
soir, anxiety, baby, break up,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Fleur noir
Fleur effrayée le soir
Fleur de la nuit
Fleur invisible
Fleur qui n'a jamais touché la pluie
Une fleur qui n’a jamais dansé dans le vent
Une fleur qui ne chante
La fleur qui se cache nue
S`est jamais souvenu
Une fleur qui est tout simplement
Une petite fleur
Toutes les fleurs avec des pétales brisés
Enfin réunis
Au-dessus de mon cercueil
Aujourd'hui, vous êtes tous au soleil
Je dors avec la lune
Categories:
soir, memory, sorrow,
Form:
SHINE ON DARLING MORNING LIGHT
Shine on darling, right;
Morning you're light;
Burgundy beautiful woman
Passionate are you my flower;
Purposely I shall plant in my heart forever;
Your crimson surpasses my desires;
I am enthralled by your fires;
Burning effortlessly ever bright;
now it's ten hours later....
I walk onto the porch at dusk;
Holding your hand together we must;
Sit out doors under the street lights;
Shine on ever so bright, this is so right;
Me being here tonight;
To watch your brillants, see you shine;
Oh, my darling you are ever so mine;
Shine on darling, shine alas the sun's setting, it's getting dark;
it's dusk...
Shine on darling dusk;
Holding yur hand together we must;
(FRENCH VERSE)
BRILLER SUR LA LUMIÈRE DE DARLING MATIN
Brille sur ma chérie, à droite;
Matin tu es léger;
Bourgogne belle femme
Passionné es-tu ma fleur?
Je planterai volontairement dans mon coeur pour toujours;
Votre pourpre dépasse mes désirs;
Je suis captivé par vos feux;
Brûlant sans effort jamais brillant;
maintenant c'est dix heures plus tard ....
Je marche sur le porche au crépuscule;
En tenant votre main ensemble nous devons;
Asseyez-vous les portes sous les réverbères;
Brille toujours si brillant, c'est si juste;
Moi étant ici ce soir;
Pour regarder vos brillants, voyez-vous briller;
Oh, ma chérie, tu es toujours si mienne;
Brille sur ma chérie, brille hélas le coucher du soleil, il commence à faire sombre;
c'est le crépuscule ...
Brille sur le crépuscule chéri;
Tenant votre main ensemble nous devons;
4/3/18
by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018
Categories:
soir, assonance, beauty, i love
Form:
Lyric
The blue hour takes root ...
There is the dark wing of the steamer,
Which takes the open sea, and carries away its regrets,
Tiny passengers, waving handkerchiefs
And the seagulls passing and passing again.
Heavy rusty chains, in heaps on the edge of the quay,
Puddles where the clouds pass,
In which dead leaves are diluting.
The evening is maritime,
The sun is still clinging to the cranes of the harbor,
Which seem aimless,
And on the summit of the trees.
The freshness already slips on its silver soles,
And it remains a few moments, on the water
The wake of dreams.
It doesn't wait to dilutes itself in oblivion.
The boat came out of my field of vision,
Perhaps a point, hidden behind the buildings of the mole.
The wind knocks at my window.
A bus goes up the avenue, almost empty.
The silver stone of the moon rises from the horizon.
The muses escaped.
The blue hour takes root,
I put a disc
And from the piano, Chopin chords.
These are the "Nocturnes".
They soon overtake the reddish mists:
Ultimate bursts of a day that goes out.
---
( translated from french )
---
original text:
----
L'heure bleue prend racine...
Il y a l'aileron sombre du paquebot,
qui prend le large, et emporte ses regrets,
des passagers minuscules, agitant des mouchoirs
et les mouettes qui passent et repassent .
De lourdes chaînes rouillées, en tas sur le bord du quai,
des flaques où passent les nuages,
dans lesquelles se diluent des feuilles mortes .
Le soir est maritime,
le soleil s'accroche encore sur les grues du port,
qui semblent désoeuvrées,
et sur la cîme des arbres.
La fraîcheur glisse déjà sur ses semelles d'argent,
et il reste quelques instants, sur l'eau
le sillage des songes.
Il ne tarde pas à se diluer dans l'oubli.
Le bateau est sorti de mon champ de vision,
peut-être un point, caché derrière les bâtiments du môle.
Le vent frappe à ma fenêtre.
Un autobus remonte l'avenue, presque vide .
La pierre argentée de la lune monte de l'horizon.
Les muses se sont échappées.
L'heure bleue prend racine,
je mets un disque
et du piano, s'égrènent les accords de Chopin.
Ce sont les « Nocturnes ».
Ils devancent de peu les brumes rousses :
ultimes sursauts d'un jour qui s'éteint.
RC
Categories:
soir, music, nostalgia, wind,
Form:
Free verse
-
Soon
the moon is black,
she is in mourning of the evening
Over the garden’s stones
Shadows are getting longer
from tomorrow
The confusion of the sky
The seedling of comets
The pulse of the planets
Will do nothing with the future
Just the scent of roses
Newly hatched
Seized of fear
In the sweetness of things
Back already.
--
–( own translation from : "éclipse et deuil du soir )
-
Bientôt,
la lune est noire,
elle porte le deuil du soir
Sur les pierres du jardin
S’allongent les ombres
de demain
La confusion du ciel
Le semis des comètes
Le pouls des planètes
Ne fera rien de l’avenir
Que le parfum des roses
A peine écloses
Saisies de peur
Dans la douceur des choses
Déjà de retour.
RC – 26 Mai 2012
Categories:
soir, feelings, light, night, space,
Form:
Free verse
Les fleurs, frissonnent et se fanent
et les feuilles brisées salissent la terre
tordu et froid - plane au rythme durent
comme des visages rompus, emprisonné d’une peinture
Et tes yeux noirs brûlent
comme le brouillard de ce soir
dans le ventre du chaudron ignoble
enlaidi par les marteaux de Hephaestus (le magnifique), qui serre
le charbon, qu'appelles-tu tes yeux - les diamants transpercent.
Categories:
soir, nature,
Form: